


the way he looks

by pneumatics



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Feelings Realization, First Kiss, M/M, gratuitous use of the word captain, jean moreau has a type, jeremy knox Knows Things, renee walker saves the souls of all who cross her path
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:47:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25233376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pneumatics/pseuds/pneumatics
Summary: Few knew the Jeremy Knox who wasn’t all teeth in his smile on national television, with his tireless passion for his team, his earnest fascination with the game, and his joyful disposition.This was a side of him that Jean was privileged to see: grounded with intent, his eyes dark and searching. Those teeth of his seemed a little sharper now.
Relationships: Jeremy Knox/Jean Moreau
Comments: 3
Kudos: 92





	the way he looks

The similarities between Jeremy Knox and Renee Walker do not stop at their kindness.

Jean notices this often as he uselessly tries to quell the wave of attraction he feels at the sight of the Trojans’ captain. They are contradictory, but not so diametrically opposed, and Jean thinks he would give anything to not see her in him. Renee is peace within calamity, the eye of a storm. He remembers often the comforting weight of her hands in his hair, anchoring him as everything he knew fell apart. Jeremy, on the other hand, is a storm himself with his spirited approach to seemingly everything. His presence is disruptive, his temperament exhausting, and yet— they have the same something about them. 

It’s _irritating_ , the way he can’t shake the feeling in the same way he can’t shake Jeremy’s presence over his shoulder. The weight of his gaze is neither cruel nor calculating but relentless all the same; if Jean were ever to ask what he was thinking about, Jeremy’s lips would quirk up in the same crooked smile that has taken residence in the forefront of his mind. Renee smiles like that too, quiet and knowing, but there is an intensity that shines through with Jeremy’s teeth and an intent that unravels something deep in Jean’s core. He has no right to be so imposing— he has no right to do a lot of things, considering Jean easily towers over him— but there is something laced in his gaze that makes Jean weak in the knees. It prickles at his skin and eats away at him steadily; creeps into his thoughts, leaving him a flushed red he can't blame on practice— and all the while Jeremy continues to watch and wait. 

He doesn’t know what the captain is looking for. From the moment Kevin pawned him off to the USC Trojans, Jean hasn’t known much of anything. He’s on edge; he’ll always be on edge (and Riko is dead and the loudmouth runaway sold their souls for a future Jean isn’t even sure he wants), but he doesn’t want to die most days, and practice is bearable enough when Alvarez greets him on the line with her quick wit. He’s surviving— living, even, but the question of his captain nags at him constantly. Jeremy Knox, with his sun-kissed skin and captain’s skill, belongs on the court just as he belongs under the sunny California sky. This is a truth. It is the Jeremy Knox, an outlier in the world he knows, a silver lining with his own silver lining, the very embodiment of freedom Jean was denied, that throws him. All too similar to the girl who saved him, he’s grown on Jean entirely too quickly with his determined kindness and effortless ability to see right through him.

It's deluded and it's dangerous, he knows, but it doesn't change anything. Whatever semblance of control Jean has is slipping, slipping still, with every passing glance between them. 

-

He finds his footing somewhere between his fifth night out with the team and the third drink in his hand. “Stop,” he says, blunt and unforgiving despite the dull thud of his heartbeat against his chest. Jeremy responds with a mere twitch of his mouth and takes a sip of his drink. They are so close together in this dark, dark room; Jean could trace the wetness of his drink as it passes between his lips, could reach out and catch the stray droplets on his thumb.

(The glint in Jeremy’s eyes suggests he knows exactly what Jean is so conscious of— his perceptiveness never fails to unsettle him.)

(And yet, he smothers his unease and forges ahead.)

“You look at me too often.”

That elicits a ghost of a laugh from the captain, a smirk appearing against the brim of his glass. “My apologies, Moreau,” Jeremy says. “You caught me.”

Jean gives him a flat look. “Don’t ‘Moreau’ me,” he says. “What’s your game?”

“Who says I have one?” Jeremy counters. “You’re far too suspicious for your own good, you know.”

“I have a right to be,” Jean says. “Or have you forgotten how you got me?”

“Have I got you?” Jeremy asks, amused. “Are you mine?” It’s the buzz talking, clear as the liquor in front of them.

“Sober up,” he says, opting to ignore the ill-timed flicker in his chest at the casual flirting and instead avoid his gaze. The captain was still nursing his first drink, he knew. Like himself, Jeremy wasn’t one to let his guard down so easily; when he spoke, he was searching, and Jean is not sure what he will find. 

Jeremy waves him off with a sigh and a flick of his wrist. “Where you’ve been and where you’ve come from are not who you are now,” he says. 

“I am a charity case.”

“You are a Trojan,” Jeremy says, his brows furrowed with resolution. “I am your captain, and this is your team.” 

“My team,” Jean mutters. He doesn’t intend for him to hear the derision, but the captain catches it anyway. 

“Not just your team. Your-” _Family_ , the treacherous voice in Jean’s head finishes the sentence with him. He stays silent. 

Jeremy observes him with ever-acute intuition. “You don’t have to be afraid anymore, Jean. I’ll tell you as many times as you need to hear it.” He moves infinitesimally closer. “Penny for your thoughts?”

It takes a moment for Jean to find his voice, his body wired on the heat of Jeremy’s proximity. It has been so long since he has allowed himself to feel this way— has he ever felt this way? The thought leaves him fumbling for words like an inexperienced child. “Family,” he says, testing the word against his tongue, “is not a phrase I am inclined to trust.”

Jeremy makes a soft _tch_ sound and refrains from rolling his eyes. “I know. I know.” he traces his finger on the sticky surface of the bar. “Fine then, not family,” he says. “But being someone you can trust? I’ll give it everything.” 

If Jean was not himself, the stubborn sincerity of those words would have melted him. The sentiment is not a new one: Jeremy Knox had been chipping away at the ice surrounding Jean’s heart for the better part of a year now. Yet tonight felt different, _is_ different. Melting is too tame a word for the burning sensation building in his chest, and Jeremy is looking, is looking, is _looking_. 

It’s a thoughtless action, the way he clutches at Jeremy’s palm so suddenly, but the captain’s expression only softens and he tightens his grip like a promise. 

“What are you thinking,” Jean asks, desperate in his shame, in this feeling he cannot contain, “when you look at me like that?” 

“I think you are beautiful,” Jeremy says simply, and Jean knows it to be true. 

“And what does that make us?”

He can count the freckles lining Jeremy’s nose now, can watch the way his pupils dilate as he exhales into the air they both breathe. 

“Do you trust me yet?”

This feeling, this freedom, this closeness so contradictory to the suffocation of the bodies in the Nest compels him with the urgency of mortality to act, to touch, to kiss the boy in front of him before it is too late. And so in favor of answering, he does. 

“Jean,” is what is murmured against his lips, and everything is on fire. 

\- 

Jean breaks away first, breathless and wanting, and leans his forehead against Jeremy who is looking at him like he’s never seen him before. The air feels heady and thick and Jean never wants to leave this moment, never wants to stop drinking in the feeling of lips against lips and Jeremy Knox’s fingers wound tightly in the collar of his shirt. 

“Jeremy,” he says, and it is soft, reverential. 

The captain smiles his crooked smile. His eyes are glassy— with what, Jean isn’t quite sure. “Take me home, Moreau.”

 _Take me home_. It’s a common turn of phrase and it shouldn’t mean much at all, but for the first time in his life, Jean knows exactly where he’s going. He understands now why he saw her in him, why the difference matters. The realization washes over him as he pulls Jeremy in for another kiss. 

He doesn’t care who sees them.

**Author's Note:**

> pov: i haven't written for two years and then i see a jerejean post on tumblr and this happens. i am....predictable


End file.
